Free Argosy Junction by Chautona Havig

write to all of us, [email protected] is a better choice.
    tad
     
    After adding the three email addresses to his address book, Matt composed emails to all three of his Montana friends, and one to the family in general. Later that night, before he went to sleep, Matt read Shakespeare’s ninety-fourth sonnet chuckling at the stench of rotting lilies. He’d recommend that one to Lane first. If comparison of woman to nature was so distasteful, she could read about the decay of it instead.
     
    ~*~*~*~
     
    Patience bounced in her chair as they waited for the Internet to connect.” Do you think he really got it? You just sent it yesterday.”
    Tad clicked open the inbox, found an email addressed to “IMA” and stood back. “It got to him in seconds. He might not even have your paper letter yet.”
    Patience was ecstatic. “He did! He got it. It says that it was waiting for him when he got home from work last night!”
    Eager to finish his lunch and take Lane to town, Tad gave her head a light pat and went to wash. Patience, reading once more, didn’t notice he’d gone.
     
    To: [email protected]
    From: [email protected]
    Subject: IMA
     
    Dear IMA,
    This is my new name for you—Impatience Martha Argosy. I came home from work today and found yours and Lane’s letters waiting for me. I loved hearing from you so soon, and I will write back, but since Tad gave me your email address, I thought I’d drop a note here too.
    You mentioned that your mom still misses Kyle, but no one told me who he is or where he is so maybe you can do that in your next email.
    I am tired and have to get up early so I’ll say goodbye, but I’ll write you a letter during my lunch break tomorrow. I promise.
    Missing Montana Friends,
    Matt
     
    Lane’s voice made her jump. Patience’s eyes flew to meet Lane’s. “What ?”
    “I said; it’s time for lunch. What are you do—” Lane saw the signature on Patience’s email and sighed. “I think you’re letting yourself get too worked up over a short visit. He’s a nice man, but he can’t be part of our lives.”
    Patience’s shoulders drooped. “I was trying to remember his voice. It sounded different—and he said things.”
    The sight of her name halted her reply. “Go wash up, I’ll close this down and be right there.”
    “But I want to read it again,” Patience protested with a tone that Lane knew too well.
    “Patience! That is enough. Your daddy would not be happy to hear you talk like that.” At the dejected look on Patience’s face, Lane relented. “Oh, all right, I’ll print this for you and bring it to the table. Now go wash up.”
    Patience skipped excitedly from the room—her own printed email! Lane found the print button and printed Patience’s email, but before she closed out the inbox, she opened another one.
     
    To: [email protected]
    From: [email protected]
    Subject: Sonnet 94
     
    Dear Lane,
    They are strange things, letters. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then I think letters are the attic, the place where treasured portions of the soul are stored to be shared only with those who will appreciate them at the right time. And, of course, there are the boxes of things that were just shoved there out of the way “for now” that weren’t meant to be important to anyone, but eventually became the most treasured things of all, albeit a bit random. I think your letters will be a mix of both, and I am glad to know you’ll write.
    Tad says you don’t usually use email, but I hope you’ll reconsider; snail mail takes so long, and I’d love to have a nice mixture to look forward to.
    As for Shakespeare, try sonnet 94. No one could complain that it is mushy.
    Ok, I’ll quit typing so you can see that my emails won’t be a burden and maybe you’ll keep reading them and will reply now and again.
    The Welding Shepherd,
    Matt
     
    Lane closed out the email and started to delete it, but something stopped her. Feeling